


I would do it all again

by fandomfab16



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fix-It, Happy Ending, M/M, Other tags to be added, Post-Canon Fix-It, Rating Might Change, Sort Of, Time Travel, technically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-27 16:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20763758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomfab16/pseuds/fandomfab16
Summary: Even after the Losers defeat Pennywise, magic still lingers in Derry. When Richie recarves his and Eddie’s initials into the kissing bridge, he connects with his 13 year old self long enough to warn him about everything that went wrong with his life, giving him a chance to change his own fate.





	1. The Boy on the Bridge

Richie stepped back from the fresh carving and admired it. When he’d first done it back in the summer of 1989, the initials had felt like an act of rebellion, Richie’s own secret way of fighting back against all the hatred, both from the world and inside of him. Now, though, it felt like a goodbye, a remembrance, and an acknowledgement all at once.

He stared at the carving for a moment, lost in thought, and then shook himself out of the haze of memory and turned to walk away. He felt lighter, an invisible pressure releasing, like a wound draining after years of festering. Even though Eddie was gone, even though nothing would ever come of the 30 years Richie had spent loving him, even though Richie would probably have to live with a broken heart for the rest of his life, it still felt revolutionary to acknowledge that part of himself.

As he walked back to his car, he was hit with a sudden wave of dizziness so intense he almost toppled over. His vision blurred and fuzzed around the edges, then snapped suddenly back into focus, like nothing had happened at all.

Richie looked around, brow furrowed. Unexplainable occurrences in Derry were never good news, and even though Richie was (almost) certain they’d killed the demon clown responsible for most of the strange happenings in the town, he was still on high alert. Suddenly, a familiar voice from behind him called out, startling him, “Where the fuck did you come from?”

He spun in place, nearly losing his balance in his haste to see the source of the noise. He spotted it quickly: a boy crouched on the kissing bridge right next to the spot where Richie had been carving.

Richie’s eyes locked with the kid; dark messy hair, thick glasses, loud printed shirt.

“Holy fuck,” Richie gasped, nearly winded by the surprised recognition flowing through him, “Richie? What are you doing here?”

The kid- who was also Richie- looked at him suspiciously, though Richie could hardly blame him. By the look of him (and the fact that he had clearly just been inspecting the R+E carved on the bridge behind him), this younger Richie was a post-pennywise Richie, and strange men appearing across the street from you was never a good sign in Derry. But there was something else on his face, something almost like recognition. “None of your business, asshole,” Young Richie responded cockily, “Who the fuck are you?”

Richie paused, considering. It was, all things considered, entirely possible that he was hallucinating this whole encounter. But then again, stranger things had happened in Derry.

Maybe. This was pretty fucking strange.

He did have to say something though, so after a pause he replied, “Richie Tozier.” The expression on young Richie’s face was almost comical, eyebrows shooting up and mouth gaping as he stared.

“Holy shit,” his younger self managed after a moment of shock, “Are you me?”

“What gave it away, my stunningly good looks? Or was it the glasses.”

“Fuck, you’re old.”

“Hey!” Richie protested, “There’s no need for that, you fucking twig.”

Young Richie let out a chuckle, “Nah, there’s no way I turn into you. You’re gonna have to prove it.”

“You want me to prove I’m me?”

“No, I want you to prove you’re me.”

Richie paused for a minute, glanced up and down the bridge, then said, “You told your friends your biggest fear was clowns, but it’s actually the fact that you’re a raging homosexual and in love with your best friend.”

Young Richie’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again, “Yeah okay, I believe it.”

“What, just like that?”

“Sure,” Young Richie shrugged, “Weirder things have happened. So you’re me, but like, old? What are you doing here? God, please don’t tell me we still live in this shithole.”

This made Richie pause again. Was he the same Richie as him, or was this some weird alternate timeline Richie? After all, an adult Richie had never appeared in front of him when he was 13- wait. That had happened to him, Richie realized. He was certain he hadn’t had the memory a minute ago, but now he could distinctly remember this moment from young Richie’s point of view.

The realization sent a jolt through him. Whatever he said to this younger Richie would become a part of his current life. And that meant….

“Yup, I’m you in like 27 years. Yes we get old, yes it’s terrible, no I will not answer the 5 million questions I’m sure you want to ask me, but I will answer like 3 maybe if they’re not stupid, but first I need you to test something.” Young Richie nodded, wide eyed and silent, “I need you to use the knife you have in your pocket and carve something into the bridge.” Young Richie glanced behind him at the initials they had both just carved into the bridge, and Richie coughed slightly, feeling awkward even though they both clearly knew what Richie had just been carving, since they were the same person. “Something else, something new.” He clarified.

Richie shrugged and stood up, walked a few feet to his left to an open spot on the bridge and began to carve. He worked for a few silent moments before standing up, brushing his hands on his pants and shuffling over so Richie could take a look.

Richie knelt in front of the carving- it was, unsurprisingly, of a penis- and inspected it carefully. Although Richie had just watched his younger self make the phallic engraving moments earlier, it already looked worn and faded as the R+E had looked not five minutes ago. It was decided. Whatever this young Richie did affected the timeline as it currently stood. And Richie suddenly had the power to affect that.

Richie glanced back at his rental car. He could get in and drive to the airport and get on a plane and be in his living room in LA in 10 hours, and life would go on just as it had for the past 25 years since he’d left Derry. He’d find fame and success and an empty house and an emptier life waiting for him.

He might lose all of that if the timeline changed. But he might get something back, too.

It wasn’t even a question.

“All right kid,” Richie said, “You remember that fucking clown…” Richie gave his younger self the abridged version of the story, keeping it short and to the point, but with enough details to still be helpful. He started with how leaving Derry made them all forget each other, then skipped ahead to Mike’s phone call, and Stan, and Bowers, and the sewer, and Eddie. He tried not to think about how his voice wavered when he said Eddie’s name; it wasn’t like this Richie didn’t know full well how important Eddie was to him. “And now we’re here, and I’m talking to what is either myself from 27 years ago or a very annoying and vivid hallucination.” He finished.

Young Richie stared at him, then laughed, “Wow, I’ve finally lost my marbles. Can’t believe it took this long.” If it had been anyone in the world but an older version of him listening, they probably wouldn’t have noticed the waver in his voice (Eddie would’ve noticed. He always noticed).

“Look, I know it’s a lot and it’s terrifying,” Richie said gently, “But we can fix this. You know how it’s supposed to happen, you know how to beat it this time. You can fix it.”

Young Richie looked up at him with wide eyes, and in that moment he looked like a kid, just any regular kid, scared and uncertain, “Will I still forget them? We can’t kill It until 27 years from now, so will I still forget my friends even though I know that I’m going to?” Richie was drawn up short by the question, somehow both surprised and heartwarmed that of all the horrible things he’d said to the young boy, that was the one he wondered about first. He may have been an annoying little fucker, but it was nice to know he did have some redeeming qualities.

“I don’t know,” Richie answered honestly.

Young Richie took this in stride, nodding resolutely. “I know what happens now,” He said, resolved, “I know what happens, and I can stop it. I’ll stop it before it even starts.” Richie smiled down at his younger self, an odd sense of pride overtaking him. Young Richie grinned up at him wickedly, “But I have some questions first.”

He rattled off a few basic ones, asking about TV shows and celebrities and pop culture. He asked about Richie’s job and life, which he told him a bit about with some reluctance. After a couple minutes, young Richie paused thoughtfully, “Does Bev end up with Ben or Bill?” He asked suddenly, “In the future, I mean.”

Richie couldn’t help but laugh again, “Ben,” he sighed, “They’re disgusting.”

“Good,” Young Richie responded, “And Eddie,” he continued warily, “Does he… I mean I always wondered if he felt… you know, the same way we do.” He looked uncertainly at Richie, “or did?”

“Do,” Richie confirmed, “It never goes away, not even when you forget.” They sat in silence for a moment, until Richie remembered that wasn’t even his original question, “And as for how Eddie felt, that’s still a mystery. When he was…. When he was dying he tried to tell me something,” Richie remembered the moment clearly, like it was stuck in amber.

The others had left, gone to fight Pennywise, but Richie’s mind and heart and soul could only focus on one thing: a constant stream of worry going _Eddie Eddie Eddie_.

“Richie,” the man himself said, voice weak and strained through his shallow breaths.

“Yeah, Eds, I’m right here.” Distantly, Reddie could hear his friends yelling, screaming, fighting, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Eddie cough, and blood oozed from his chest, already soaked through his shirt and Richie’s jacket, which he had pressed to Eddie’s stomach in a desperate effort, coating Richie’s hands darkly.

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie said softly, “Don’t….” He trailed off with the effort and his eyes slid closed.

“Eddie, no, Eds!” Richie called, shaking his friend gently by one shoulder. Eddie’s eyes flicked open and he focused again on Richie.

“Richie,” he sighed, “Richie...Rich, I...you know I….” He trailed off again with a wet cough, and Richie let out a sob.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me now. You can tell me later, okay?” Eddie nodded like it took all the strength he had left. His hand was covering Richie’s where Richie clutched the jacket against his wound. “Tell me later,” Richie insisted again, even as Eddie’s eyes began to lose focus and the shouts of his other friends became unignorable.

Richie, stood on the kissing bridge in broad daylight having a chat with his younger self, continued, “He wanted to tell me something, but he couldn’t get it out before he….” Young Richie watched him, eyes very wide, then nodded and held out his hand.

“What is this, a secret handshake?” Richie asked.

“I promise I’ll save them. I promise I’ll save Stan and Eddie and everyone else.” Young Richie said. Richie, almost believing him, reached out and shook his hand. They stood for a moment, hands clasped between them in silent agreement, before reality shifted and blurred again, then popped, leaving only one Richie lying unconscious on the ground.


	2. Through the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for a homophobic slur

Richie awoke in 1989 to the sound of his own name being hissed at him. The tone was annoyed and urgent, but the voice itself filled him with warmth. He focused on the voice, then opened his eyes and shook his head to find Eddie Kaspbrak leaning over him. 

“Richie, why the fuck are you sleeping on the sidewalk?” Eddie demanded.

“Uhhh,” Richie replied stupidly. He’d been talking to himself, he remembered suddenly, his _ older _ self, who had warned him that he’d forget his best friends for nearly 25 years, and then lose two of them within days of each other. He’d lose Eddie, who was still leaning over him with a familiar expression: halfway between concern and annoyance.

Richie shook his head, clearing it, as his uncharacteristic silence made Eddie start to look more concerned than annoyed, “It’s a free country, my good sir, is there some law that a gentleman can’t take a brief snooze in the sun?” The concern melted immediately, replaced by the pinched brow and downturned lips that Richie was so familiar with. Quick as the look appeared, however, it vanished, as Eddie glanced over his shoulder.

“Fuck, they’re coming,” he cursed and grabbed Richie’s arm. Richie swallowed, his skin alight from the contact.

“Uh, who’s coming?” He asked, as Eddie tugged at him, trying to get him to stand up.

“Johnson and the others.” Richie swore, scrambling to his feet. In the void Bowers had left after he went crazy and killed his dad and then tried to kill all of them, 15 year old Chase Johnson had stepped up as an equally terrible, if not quite as sadistic, presence in the Loser’s lives. Richie glanced down the road, spotting Johnson by his height and bright blonde hair, surrounded by half a dozen or so other menacing figures. The group was still pretty far back, but they were rapidly approaching. 

Richie and Eddie rushed across the bridge, Eddie still half dragging him by the arm.

“They were following me from the pharmacy,” Eddie continued as he climbed the bridge railing to escape into the woods, “I think I almost lost them, but then I saw you and stopped-” Eddie cut himself off abruptly, his cheeks and ears turning abruptly pink. 

“Aw Eds, I’m touched.” Richie grinned as he followed Eddie down into the forest. They set off together away from the Kissing Bridge, talking in low voices 

“Shut up, fuckwad, I just didn’t want to have to listen to you complain for a month about how Johnson kicked your ass.” 

“Hey assholes!” Came a menacing voice from behind them. Richie glanced back up at the bridge, and swore. Johnson and his gang were already jumping over the railing to slide down the hillside.

“Come on!” Eddie cried, grabbing Richie by the arm again and setting off at a run. Richie stumbled, and then the two boys were racing through the woods, glancing over their shoulders every few seconds to track the progress of the older boys behind them. They swerved, trying to throw them off the trail, and weaved through the plants and trees. Eventually, they reached the river, which was full and rushing since the recent bouts of summer rain. It was uncrossable at that point.

“Fuck,” Eddie swore, “Fuck shit, oh god we’re so gonna die.” His breath was coming in rapid bursts as he fumbled for his inhaler, though he’d been fine running through the woods moments earlier.

Richie could already hear the shouts and footsteps of their pursuers getting closer, “Okay, calm down,” he said, thinking fast, “This way!”

The took off again down the bank of the river, keeping close to the treeline, until they reached a familiar tree, then turned away from the river and into the woods. Both boys knew the way, and their feet travelled the familiar ground almost on autopilot. 

In the distance, Richie heard shouts, “Spread out, they can’t have gone far. Don’t let the faggots get away!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Eddie swore, and Richie felt himself grin. Despite the unfortunate situation, he couldn’t help but enjoy the rush of adrenaline, racing through the forest with Eddie at his side. 

They reached the entrance to the clubhouse less than a minute later, scrambled to open the hidden door and slid down the ladder into the safety below.

When Ben had first brought them there, the Losers had agreed not to use the clubhouse to hide from bullies unless it was absolutely necessary. It was hidden, Ben had explained, but not invisible. The last thing they wanted was for one of their many tormentors to find it, so it was best not to lead them directly to the doorstep.

However, desperate times called for desperate measures, Richie told himself as he and Eddie hunkered down in the underground hiding space. They could still hear the boys stomping around in the forest above. Eddie was practically wheezing now, sat on a box with his shoulders shaking with every breath. 

Richie knelt in front of him, “Where’s you’re inhaler?”

“Dropped...it…” Eddie replied through his wheezing, “Can’t....breathe.”

“Fuck, okay,” Richie said, panic building in his chest. Before he could think of a way to help, they heard footsteps practically on top of them.

“Where are you, little shits?” Johnson sounded pissed, probably about being outrun by two scrawny 13 year olds. 

Eddie glanced up, eyes wide and terrified, and his breathing somehow became even louder. It was so loud, in fact, that Richie was starting to worry it would give away their location to the boy above. 

Richie grabbed Eddie by the shoulders, forcing him to make eye contact. He took deep slow breaths, in and out and in and out, as he looked into Eddie’s eyes. Eddie understood what he meant without him needing to say the words, as Richie had been sure he would._ Breathe with me _.

They sat like that, Richie’s hands on his shoulders as Eddie clutched his forearms and attempted to quiet his breathing. Vaguely, Richie was aware of Johnson above them, blundering around through the forest and calling out slurs and threats at the hidden boys, but all Richie could really focus on was Eddie’s eyes on him and Eddie’s hands on him and Eddie’s breathing getting steadier and steadier. 

_ Eddie, Eddie, Eddie _.

Richie was a tactile person, and Eddie seemed to tolerate it with minimal complaining, but this level of closeness was unusual, even for them. Not that Richie was complaining, and he’d stay there happily as long as Eddie wasn’t complaining either. 

Eventually, the footsteps above them faded into the distance and the only sound left was their, now regular, breathing. Richie probably would have sat there like a happy idiot all day, but Eddie pulled his hands away, and Richie quickly followed suit.

“Thanks,” Eddie said, his voice tight, “For that.” 

“Thanks for not leaving me back there,” Richie replied, struck by an uncharacteristic desire not to make a joke, “Would’ve been an unpleasant way to wake up.”

Eddie grinned, not his usually snarky one, or even his surprised one that he tried to hide when Richie said something that genuinely made him laugh, but a soft and gentle smile that had Richie thinking he should invest in an inhaler of his own. 

It was like this sometimes with them, when they were alone and one of them said something outside their regular script of jokes and bickering. It was almost like the air between them was charged with _ something _, something Richie couldn’t identify but relished none the less. 

The silence stretched for a moment too long, edging into awkwardness, so Richie continued, “Waking up to you was nice though, reminded me of when I wake up to your mom after we-”

“Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up Richie,” Eddie snapped grinning, “I hate you so much.”

Richie smiled, settling back into their familiar banter, “We should probably stay here for a bit to make sure Johnsons gone, so looks like you’re stuck with me!”

Eddie groaned, “I should just take my chances up there, it’ll be less painful.” He didn’t move to get up, though, not that Richie had really been expecting him to.

“I call hammock!” Richie sprung to his feet as Eddie squaked his annoyance. 

\----------

When they left the clubhouse, the sun was setting. They’d stayed inside for longer than was strictly necessary, talking and bickering and sharing the (definitely too small) hammock, until Eddie had looked at his watch and groaned that his mom would kill him if he was late again. 

As they walked back to the Kissing Bridge, Richie found himself preoccupied by the last conversation he’d had there. 

There was really no way to be sure he hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing, or that it hadn’t been a weirdly vivid dream. It hadn’t felt like a dream though, it had felt terrifyingly real, in the way that It had always been both impossible and possible at the same time. And Old Richie had known things that he’d never admitted to anyone, and Richie remembered vividly the feeling of taking Old Richie’s hand and feeling absolutely certain that he was real.

And weirder things had happened.

If it was real, if he was telling the truth and what he said happened had really happened…well the thought quite frankly terrified him. He’d promised he’d fix it, but he had absolutely no idea how.

He glanced to his side, where Eddie was walking next to him and rambling about a comic book he was reading, hands flying every which way as they always did when he was excited about something. 

Riche considered him as they walked, watched his mouth and his eyes and the curve of his shoulder, the way his hair flopped in the wind. Eddie had always been Richie’s favorite person to annoy. He loved to annoy all the Losers, but Eddie…. He always fired back, responded to whatever bullshit came out of Richie’s mouth with equal parts anger and humour. Richie always wanted Eddie to pay attention to him, and Eddie was always paying attention to him. 

It had been inevitable when he had fallen in love with Eddie. Richie hadn’t been surprised by it one day, there wasn’t a single moment that stood out as the thing that made him fall in love. He’d known from the moment they met: oh no, this one might be someone. And then one day, he’d looked over and Eddie was. 

And now he knew that Eddie was going to die. Eddie was going to die and Richie would never know if he felt the same way. 

Unless he stopped it. 

“What are you staring at?” Eddie said, snapping RIchie out of his thoughts. 

“Uh, nothing,” Richie replied. When Eddie frowned at him, he added, “You’ve been talking about X-Men for the past ten minutes and my eyes are just glazing over.”

Eddie snorted, “Well if you weren’t being silent like a weirdo then I wouldn’t have to rant about X-Men!” 

Richie grinned, distracted again by Eddie.

They traded jabs as they climbed up the hill to the kissing bridge, where Richie had left his bike. 

“What were you doing out here?” Eddie asked as they climbed over the railing.

“Having a wet dream about your mom,” Richie replied as casually as he coudl, walking ahead so his blush wouldn’t give him away.

Eddie jogged to catch up, “What, you just decided that the side of the road was a good place to nap? That’s so unbelievably stupid of you.”

“It was going fine until you showed up with Johnson.”

“I should’ve left you there.”

Richie laughed as they reached his bike, “I’ll walk you back to the pharmacy if you want,” he offered.

“It’s okay,” Eddie said, “isn’t it in the opposite direction from your house?”

“Yeah, but I was hoping to see your mom tonight.” Eddie shoved his shoulder and started walking, and Richie fell into step beside him. 

They continued to chat as they walked, but Richie found himself distracted by his encounter earlier that afternoon.

“And my mom says that public restrooms are the number 1 place for bacteria, do you have any idea-”

“Do you remember the promise we made the other day?” Richie interrupted, unable to keep it to himself anymore, “That we’d all come back?”

Eddie looked up at him, eyes suddenly serious, “Yeah, why?”

“Don’t come back.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Maybe deep down, he didn’t want to stop them. 

Eddie froze in his tracks, so Richie stopped too. He turned to Richie incredulously.

“What that fuck does that mean.”

“You shouldn’t,” Richie swallowed, “You shouldn’t come back. If It does.”

To Richie’s surprise, hurt flashed across Eddie’s face, and he stepped back slightly, before it was replaced by familiar anger, “Of course I’m coming back, asshole! What, do you think I’m a coward?”

“No!” Richie said too quickly. Eddie wasn’t a coward, he was brave, and passionate, and occasionally even reckless.

Eddie paused, eyebrows furrowing. “Do you not want me to come back?” He said quietly. He’s eyes were huge and, again, Richie found himself struggling to speak.

“No,” He choked out, overwhelmed by the understatement of it all.

Then Eddie started to look annoyed again, and everything was right with the world again.

“Then why?” He demanded, “Why would you say that?”

For almost 3 seconds, Richie considered telling him the truth. _ I was carving our initials into the Kissing Bridge because I’m desperately in love with you, _ he would say, _ and 40 year old me appeared through some weird time travel bullshit and told me that It comes back and we defeat it, but Stanley kills himself and you die in my arms, and I’d really rather you didn’t die in my arms, you know, cause of the whole I’m in love with you thing, so if you could just stay away from Derry for the rest of our lives that would be swell. _

He almost did it just to see the look on Eddie’s face. But he also knew that, regardless of what Richie said, Eddie wouldn’t abandon his friends. 

“Eh, nevermind, I’m just kidding. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t gonna wimp out on us,” The words tasted stale even as he said them.

Eddie gave him a suspicious look, but let it slide, responding, “Yeah right, you just don’t want to be the only one to chicken out and not show up.” He turned and kept walking, and Richie gave himself three seconds to breathe before falling into step beside him.

  



End file.
